


Save Yourself, I'll Hold Them Back

by HoloXam



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: (lol what a combo), Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Blood and Injury, First Kiss, I don't know anything about pathfinder or being stabbed but let's have at it, Listen to Rusty Quill Gaming: SADNESS!, M/M, Possible Character Death, Self-Sacrifice, Set ambiguously at the end of S4, The Anti-Magic Cuffs, Wilde is fine, thanks for asking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:42:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26770849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HoloXam/pseuds/HoloXam
Summary: Oscar watches Zolf's lips tremble, wondering through the haze of pain as to why he never managed to kiss that mouth. Now all he wants to do is hold him tight and assure him that it's going to be okay. Bit ironic now, maybe.
Relationships: Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde
Comments: 15
Kudos: 50





	Save Yourself, I'll Hold Them Back

**Author's Note:**

> This was basically prompted by Kadet going "Can Wilde get healed when he's wearing the anti-magic cuffs?" in a way more fun and shippy vein, and I went "NO >:)" and wrote some angst. 
> 
> To stay on brand and because cringe culture is dead, the title is a My Chemical Romance song. :)

It’s a dagger that gets him, just as he breaks cover. 

Oscar doesn’t see the assailant before they’re right up in his face, and the knife plunges into his abdomen once, twice, three times, before Oscar can manage to stab them in the throat and push them off him. 

He staggers; takes cover behind an overturned container. Collapses. 

It _stinks_ there. 

It takes him a moment to even realise that it hurts. Little stars dance on the edges of his vision as he presses a hand to the presumed origin of the pain, just above his hip. 

It hurts. His hand comes away red. 

_Ah. Right._

“Oscar. _Oscar.”_

Oscar opens his eyes from nothingness. Someone is cradling the back of his head, pressing something— _a hand?—_ against his stomach. They’re blurry and hard to see in the dark, but their silhouette is momentarily backlit by something exploding in the distance, and the shape of their nose, lips, beard, is more familiar than his own reflection. 

_Zolf._

He feels a healing spell repel against his very own anti-magic field.

Nothing happens. Blood soaks through his shirt, and the way the fabric gets cold and sticky against the skin on his hips is almost worse than the fiery pain from the wound. 

He coughs and tastes iron. Feels it drip from his chin. 

“The— _fuck, Oscar._ Stay with me. You'll be fine. Just— just stay with me.” There’s that gruffness, steeling a bridge over rising panic. Zolf evidently has no time for panic, and is stubborn enough not to see this wound for what it is. 

Oscar laughs, and it _hurts._

Zolf’s head snaps up. Something has started burning nearby, illuminating his face enough that Oscar can see the desperation in his wide-blown eyes. 

“I love you,” he rasps, and smiles as a familiar expression of exasperated rage flashes across Zolf's face. 

“Shut up,” Zolf growls, hand pressing harder against the wound. Another healing spell bounces off. Zolf should not be using them on him. Not here, not now. Maybe never. “Just— just _hold still,_ and I'll _fix you.”_

“It won't work,” Oscar says, sounding almost with it to his own ears. “Go. I'll kick the cuffs and distract them. Just— just run.”

Zolf stares at him, fear painted on his face. Oscar does his best to glare back. Gods. He'll never live this down. 

“No, I—” 

Of course, _now_ panic hits. Oscar watches Zolf's lips tremble, wondering through the haze of pain as to why he never managed to kiss that mouth. Now all he wants to do is hold him tight and assure him that it's going to be okay. Bit ironic now, maybe. 

He cups Zolf's cheek. 

“You promised,” he says. Zolf's beard is softer than he thought it would be. He runs his fingers through it, up along his cheek and into his hair. 

“Fuck,” Zolf says. 

“Kiss for good luck?” 

Zolf takes his face in both hands, bloody palms sticky against Oscar's jaw. Oh, what a sight they must be. 

“Don't die,” he says, and, before Oscar can object to that, he's kissing him, hard and fast and with finality.

* * *

Oscar watches Zolf go, hurrying down the alley and out of the unfortunate remainder of his life. 

That's fine. Good thing he didn't do something as irresponsible as falling head over heels in love with the person who he employed to kill him off _just in case_. 

Of course, he's going to die here. 

That's fine. 

He pulls his feet up. The shackles come off surprisingly easily, falling to the ground with two heavy _clonks._ Nothing immediately happens. 

Oscar pulls the cork out of a healing potion with his teeth, spits it out and gulps down the liquid.

It tastes like blood.

For a moment there's nothing except the pain and the nagging thought that it might not work.

That nothing is ever going to work. 

Then the effect sears through him, like cool sunlight filling him up from head to toe. His skin and tissue re-knits itself, his blood loss is magically negated, and, most importantly—something deep and beautiful flutters in his lungs and throat, a glittering, earthy feel of magic rising to his throat. 

He gasps at the overwhelming feeling of being _saturated._

“Oh, _that_ feels good,” he sing-songs as he gets to his feet, only staggering once, and surveys the scene.

His assailant lies dead some steps away, throat cut and a new stab wound in their chest. Oscar’s lip twitches in a half-smile. He’s alone, for now, but sounds of mayhem travel through the empty streets. They’re not far away.

A gust of wind blows his hair into his eyes, and Oscar raises a bloodstained hand to push it away, but halts himself, staring at his fingers. 

_Right._

He snaps them. They’re clean. His hair is out of his eyes. 

He wishes someone could see him. 

Kicking away the shackles at his feet, Oscar raises his hands and his voice, and a beautiful red dragon descends on the city. It roars – someone nearby starts screaming. 

There. That should buy everyone some time.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading! Wilde is fine, of course. He'll meet everyone later for drinks in the Soggy Stowaway, or something. 
> 
> I can be found on twitter and tumblr @ holoxam, if you wanna hang!


End file.
